


Splatter Art

by watanuki_sama



Category: Common Law (TV)
Genre: Gen, I know nothing about paintball so this is all very fudged, Mock battle, Mock deaths, Paintball, People shooting each other non-lethally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:11:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watanuki_sama/pseuds/watanuki_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After reading one too many books about effective management and building healthy workplace relationships, the captain proposes a team-building activity. Paintball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splatter Art

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on FF.net under the penname 'EFAW' on 07.15.16.

_“I’m not a malicious person, but the excitement you get from shooting someone with a paintball is just beyond words.”_  
_—Ollie Lang_

\---

After reading one too many books about effective management and building healthy workplace relationships, the captain proposes a team-building activity.

Paintball.

Everyone thinks it’s a monumentally stupid idea. Giving people with easy access to guns and a lot of buried anger and frustration the ability to shoot each other without restraint? This can only end poorly.

On the other hand, they’re a bunch of extremely stressed people with pent-up anger issues and easy access to guns being given the chance to unrestrainedly shoot each other.

They all sign up without hesitating.

\---

**GAME ONE**

Wes and Travis team up. They don’t even talk about it, they just stand next to each other and put their names together on the board. When the game starts, they grab their guns and slink off into the woods together.

The thing about Travis and Wes is that they’re the best when they’re working as a team. They may fight, they may bicker, but when they’re working towards a common goal, they are the absolute best. Nothing stops them from getting to the end.

Their goal today is to win.

They move from tree to tree, scouting ahead, watching each other’s backs. There are several close calls, but they always manage to get out unscathed.

They _decimate_ the other teams.

Because Travis and Wes have _always_ been the best when they’re working together.

By the time they stroll up to the starting point, completely unpainted, the rest of the players have gathered. Most of them are splattered with bright green paint. Travis rests his gun on his shoulder and Wes leans his against his leg and they trade smug high-fives.

There’s a lot of grumbling. There’s also a lot of ‘should have known’s thrown in there too.

People start making plans for the next game.

\---

**GAME TWO**

During the span of his police career, Wes has entered five sharpshooting competitions. He has won four of them. (Travis totally isn’t counting the competition they met at, because everyone _knows_ Travis was the real winner there, he doesn’t care what Wes’s stupid little trophy says). Wes also has the patience to stay still for long periods of time and a temperament that doesn’t get bored with a lot of inactivity.

Team White Four is using this to their advantage.

Travis stays low to the ground as he goes, using bushes as cover and keeping his eyes on the trees. He hasn’t actually _seen_ Wes up there, but there are enough people wandering by with white starbursts on their helmets or the tops of their shoulders to show that _someone_ is sniping people from above. And Travis knows exactly who it is.

He also can’t pinpoint where Wes _is_ , the people going by come from all different directions. He’s pretty sure Wes is hopping from tree to tree like a fucking money up there, that’s something he’d totally do, the bastard, so Travis is keeping low and taking it safe.

It’s just him and Robertson from Property Crimes, shuffling through the dirt. The rest of their team is gone. He doesn’t know who else is left in the game—it seems like an awful lot of people have been sniped and sent back to the start. But he’s not going to stop until he hears the whistle. Dammit, he’s going to _win_ this thing.

“How long do we have to do this?” Robertson whispers at his back.

“Shh!” Travis gaze, head darting upwards. “He’ll hear you!”

“There’s no one _there_ , Marks,” Robertson hisses, but he’s wrong, because Travis just saw something move up there. It might have been a squirrel, or a bird, or the wind moving through the trees.

But it might have been a man in dark clothes trying to find someone whispering below him.

Travis bites his lip and makes a short, easy decision. Robertson has been pissing him off anyway.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, making space underneath his bush. With a great sigh, Robertson complies, crouching on his heels beside Travis. Unlike Travis, Robertson’s eyes are scanning straight ahead. The amateur.

“What now?” Robertson grumbles.

Seriously, it’s the easiest decision in the world.

“I’m doing this for the team!” Travis whisper-shouts as he grabs a fistful of Robertson’s jacket and pushes him into open air.

Two things happen at once: white paint splatters against Robertson’s back, and Travis throws himself backwards, shooting into the tree. Robertson lets out a betrayed cry, glaring at the bushes Travis is no longer hiding behind as he lifts his gun above his head. “You’d better win this, you bastard,” Robertson cries as he starts the trek towards the starting point.

Travis waits in the bushes, holding his breath.

“You missed, Travis,” Wes’s voice purrs from across the clearing. Travis waits, doesn’t say a word. He can be patient, if the circumstances are right.

“You’re not going to win this,” Wes says from a completely different direction. Skippy is _fast_ when he needs to be. Travis moves nothing but his eyes, trying to orient on his partner.

“I’m going to get you,” Wes declares, and this time it’s right behind him and Travis only has a split second to react—

He rolls away, out into the clearing, right as three paintballs explode where he’d been standing. He comes up out of his roll, gun raised, and finds Wes there, mimicking his pose, facing off like cowboys at high noon.

“Nice strategy,” Travis says, “going up high. Did you think that one up all by yourself?”

“You threw your own teammate into the line of fire,” Wes says, not wavering an inch. “How…cold, Travis.”

They stare each other down.

Later, they can’t agree who pulled the trigger first, it happened so close together. The captain finally has to flip a coin to determine the winner.

Travis never lets Wes live it down.

\---

**GAME THREE**

Wes steps into the clearing just as Travis comes around a tree, and both their guns snap up. They glare at each other, circling like wolves, ignoring, for the moment, the sounds of gunfire around them.

“How do you want to play this?” Wes asks. “You go down easy, or you go down hard?”

“You could go down instead,” Travis offers, and Wes just scoffs. His partner shrugs without actually moving. “Or I could take you down with me. _Or_ …” He lets the last word linger in a way he knows Wes hates.

Wes grits his teeth. He _could_ just shoot right now.

_Or_ …

“Or what?” he grits out.

Travis does that motionless shrug again. “ _Or_ we could team up. For an alliance. Remember the first game? We’ll beat them all.”

Wes thinks about it. It’s a good idea. No one would be expecting it.

“What’s the catch?”

“We share the credit of our win.”

Wes frowns and thinks about it some more.

“Fine,” he finally says. “We’ll both lower our weapons and talk this out. On three. One…two…threesie.”

They both drop their guns and come to the center of the clearing. Five minutes later, they’re moving through the woods in sync, the way they always are when they’re working together.

\---

The alliance works. The enemy is eradicated in no time at all. Wes sighs, hands on his hips, and feels inordinately triumphant. “That was good teamwo—”

There’s a single burst of gunfire, and red paint splatters across his chest.

Wes stares down at himself. “You shot me.” His head slowly comes up, and he gapes at his traitor of a partner. “You _shot_ me!”

“Sorry, babe.” Travis puts a hand out, grinning easily. “Last man standing wins. All’s fair in love and war.”

Wes’s mouth goes tight. His gun comes up.

Travis’s eyes widen. “Whoa, hey, no, you’re out, you can’t just—”

Wes can, and he does. He starts firing and he doesn’t stop until he’s emptied his entire cache, covering Travis nearly head to toe in yellow paint.

When the captain wanders out to find them, nearly ten minutes later, he find them grappling in the dirt, red and yellow paint smearing together as they wrestle each other.

\---

**GAME FOUR**

The teams were random this time, just to keep things interesting. Travis was randomly teamed up with Kendall and Jonelle. Which is…well, Kendall is cool, Travis likes Kendall, they do a lot of harmless flirting with the clear understanding that she’s Not Going There, and hey, Travis respects that. But _Jonelle_. That makes him nervous. He keeps expecting her to shoot him in the back when he’s not looking. He resolves to keep one eye on her at all times.

They’re crouched in a small hut, everyone facing the door as they strategize. Well, mostly their strategy so far has been to shoot anyone who pokes their head in the door, but Travis knows they’ll have to do better than that, and soon, or they’ll be roadkill. They’ve been here five minutes and Travis figures they have another five, at best, before they have to move. It’d be nice to have a plan before then.

This is the point at which Kendall coughs. “Um…” She shifts in her crouch. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh god, you can’t shoot, can you?” Travis moans, shaking his head. She’s a fantastic shot in _Apocalypse Moon_ , but video games are one thing. This is real life, this is war, and she’s just a digi tech.

The look Kendall shoots him is on par for some of the glares he’s gotten from Jonelle. “No, you ass. I have three brothers, I can shoot.”

Travis shifts, risking putting Jonelle temporarily out of his sights as he looks at the other woman. “So what’s the problem?”

“Not as _problem_ , exactly…” Kendall reaches for her pack. “I have three brothers, see, so I had to get a little… _creative_ , sometimes, to beat them.” She pulls out a slim case and flips it open. “Think we can use these?”

Travis stares at the contents, and a slow grin crosses his face. “Oh, Kendall, you are _brilliant_.”

\---

Wes is wriggling beneath a bush when he hears a twig crack to his left. He goes still, gun swinging around, peering through the leaves for the enemy, but there’s no one there.

He waits another thirty seconds before slowly lowering his gun.

He lets out a breath, and that’s when something rolls under the bush, thumping against his thigh. Frowning, he looks down. It looks like a big round rock, except rocks aren’t made of metal.

Too late, he realizes what it is. Too late, he springs to his feet, trying to escape.

Too late, and the paint grenade goes off, showering him in bright blue.

Wes’s outraged squawk can be heard from across the field, and it totally makes getting disqualified for unapproved ammo worth it.

\---

**GAME FIVE**

“Come on out, boys. We know you’re there!”

Wes glances over at Travis. “Do you have _anything_ left?”

His partner shakes his head, a frown tugging at his lips. “You?”

Wes does likewise. They take a breath, simultaneously taking a glance towards Kate and Amy. It was a long game today, Travis drained all his ammo five minutes ago, and Wes used the last of his in that final burst against those Metro cops. And now it’s just them and the women, and Kate and Amy are just standing there, calmly waiting. They know Wes and Travis don’t have anywhere to go.

Wes glances over. “You know what we have to do.” He holds out his fist.

Travis’s lips tighten. “I hate this,” he mutters, even as he puts his own fist out.

“I know,” Wes murmurs reassuringly, counting off. On three, they both make their choices. Wes stares down at his scissors, then looks at Travis’s rock, and swallows. “Okay. Okay, let’s do this.”

“No!” Travis shakes his head. “No, no way. I ain’t quittin’ you, man.”

“Okay, first, stop quoting that movie at me, it’s ridiculous. Second, this is the only way, and you know it.” He takes a breath, hands tightening around his gun. “This will work. You just do your part.”

Travis bites his lip, but he nods. Slowly, he sets his gun down, and with one last look at Wes, he inches backwards, into the shadows.

Wes takes another breath and stands.

\---

He comes out with his hands up, gun slung around his back. Kate and Amy’s weapons both come up, but not with any urgency. They know he’s out of ammo. He’s no threat right now.

“Where’s Travis?” Amy demands, eyes flicking to the bushes around him.

“Ran off,” Wes spits, disdain dripping off the words. “Like a _coward_.”

The two women share a look, then shrug. “No matter. We’ll find him.” Kate looks over at Amy. “How do you want to do this?”

Amy shrugs again, still scanning her surroundings. “I’ll let you have Wes if you let me shoot Travis in the face when we find him.”

“Deal.” Kate turns her attention back to Wes, settling her weight. “You put up a good fight, Wes,” she says, the barrel of her gun aimed in the center of Wes’s chest. “Maybe you’ll do better next time.”

Her finger tightens on the trigger, and Travis springs out of the bushes and tackles Amy from behind. Taken by surprise, by the time the dark-haired woman reacts her gun has already been wrenched from her grasp. He lets off a quick shot in her gut, then swings around, firing another shot at Kate. Kate turns to retaliate, but it’s too late; the paintball hits her in the side, right under her ribs.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone looks around.

Then Travis looks at Wes, standing there with a bright red starburst on his chest, and he makes a fist. “Wes! I will avenge yooooou!” he shouts melodramatically, shaking his fist at the sky.

Wes rolls his eyes and stomps over, whacking the side of Travis’s head. “Shut up.”

\---

**GAME SIX**

The first five minutes of the game are no-kill, time for the players to scatter and coordinate with their teammates. The game is no-holds-barred, but the first five minutes are sacred.

Five minutes and twenty seconds after the game starts, Wes feels the cold press of a gun against his neck.

He slowly brings his hands out to his sides. “That’s right,” a voice says, a voice he almost recognizes. Someone from Juvenile crimes, he thinks. “Nice and easy, no sudden moves. Up.” A pair of hands wrenches his gun away from him, and then he’s being frog-marched out of his hiding spot and into a clearing.

Kate and Amy are there. So is pretty much everyone else. Wes eyes them all warily. “What is this?”

“You’ll see,” Amy declares ominously, standing there like a queen in her royal court. What’s scary is the way everyone else just stands there too, not shooting or taking each other out even though the game has already started. Just…waiting.

Wes has no idea what they’re waiting for. And then Robertson and a few other guys from Property Crimes march Travis into the clearing, and he thinks he gets it.

Travis looks around. “What the hell, guys?” He sends Wes a _What is going on here?_ eyebrow, to which Wes responds with an _I’m not entirely sure_ shrug.

“We’re here to take care of a problem,” Amy intones, and Wes looks around again and _oh_. Oh, wow.

“This is an alliance,” he declares. “You’ve all teamed up.”

“Temporarily,” Kate agrees, smirking at Travis’s gaping mouth. “The enemy of my enemy and all that.”

“You ganged up?” Travis asks, outrage in his voice. “On _us?_ ”

“It was necessary. Sorry, boys,” Kate says, but she doesn’t sound any sort of sorry. In fact, she sounds almost gleeful at the prospect.

Amy makes a motion, and the guns at their backs nudge them forward. They find themselves backed against a pair of trees with nowhere to run, two dozen guns pointed right at them.

Wes looks over at Travis. Travis looks at Wes. 

“On three,” Amy calls. “One…two…”

Travis crooks a smile, and holds out his fist. For once in his life, Wes reaches out and returns the first bump.

“Three!”

\---

Later, when the gunfire has resumed and they’ve been left for dead, Wes stares absently up at the sky.

“Man,” Travis grumbles, dropping his hand on his chest and smearing multi-colored streaks of paint together. “I can’t believe they ganged up on us. They’re going to _so_ regret it next game, I swear…”

“Hey Travis,” Wes muses, listening to shots.

Travis’s grumbling stops. “Yeah?”

Wes turns his head, grinning at his partner. “They think we’re threats.”

Travis stares at him.

And then he grins, the biggest, whitest flash of teeth spreading from ear to ear. “Oh my god, they _do_. _That’s_ why they ganged up. That’s _awesome!_ ” He sits up, pumping a fist in the air. “We are the biggest threats out there!” and even though he’s covered in paint from head to toe, he sounds like he just won the lottery.

Wes sits up after him, and he can’t help but laugh. Soon after, Travis joins in, and it’s the funniest thing in the world. They collapse against each other, giggling breathlessly, arms around each other, and it really doesn’t matter that they’re dead in the game, because their coworkers formed an alliance to take them out because they’re such a terror on the battlefield.

The laughter finally eases, but they don’t immediately pull away, content to just sit there for a moment. Finally, Travis shifts, slinging an arm around Wes’s shoulders. “Burgers?” he asks.

Wes nods. “Burgers.”

They climb to their feet, and they don’t let go.

\---

“How is the paintball going?” Dr. Ryan asks.

Sutton, sitting at the starting point next to the board, looks out at the field and shrugs, even though she can’t see it through the phone line. “Well, everyone is enthusiastic about it,” he says in a voice that isn’t quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Everyone is definitely working out some suppressed feelings. Through gunfire and mock death.

“Sounds fun,” the doctor says, and Sutton chuckles. Everyone is enjoying it, and workplace incidents are down nine percent. It seems to be working.

“And how are Wes and Travis doing with the game?” Dr. Ryan asks, curious in that particular psychologist way.

Just then, the men in question come striding out of the woods, covered in paint with their arms around each other. They hardly even look at Sutton as they come up and cross their names off the board, and then they’re gone, eagerly discussing where the best burgers are around here.

Sutton just chuckles and shakes his head. “Trust me, they’re doing just fine.”


End file.
